


Long Way Home

by nofaves



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-18
Updated: 2008-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 05:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nofaves/pseuds/nofaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ty explores the paths that brought he and Marc together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you drag your feet too long in ending a story: your beloved beta (waves at [](http://eggybread.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://eggybread.livejournal.com/)**eggybread** ) gets inspired to finish it herself! But these little setbacks are sometimes just what we need to take a giant step forward.

Ty watched him sleep.

He watched Marc’s chest rise and fall as his breath slowed, slowed until Ty knew he was in REM sleep. Then he turned his attention to the fluttering eyelids, smoky lashes beating time against the pale skin of his face. His lips parted and wavered as if he were whispering something, but there was no sound.

Ty knew he should just turn the light off and get to sleep himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t take his eyes off of his friend, his protégé, his teammate – _former_ teammate, he reminded himself for the millionth time – and now, finally, his lover.

As soon as he turned over, turned out the light and turned in, he’d be turning his back on what was, but also what could have been. And he’d beaten himself up with “if-only’s” for the last five months, so it was futile to pile more on now.

 

 

They’d had all season. Nine months of time simply wasted in Ty’s restrictive scruples. He wouldn’t make his move in camp, since the writing was on the wall: Ty would be spending the season in Wilkes-Barre and Marc was the heir apparent. When Marc went down in Calgary, Ty had waited all day by the phone. There was no way Ray and Michel were going to simply cross their fingers and hope that nothing would happen to Sabou.

But when he finally arrived, he found a very broken Marc-André. Sure, the ever-present smile was there, but it was for appearance’s sake. Ty couldn’t bring himself to take advantage of the kid’s temporary weakness.

By the time Marc started coming back to home practices, Ty’s winning streak had begun, and he was afraid that Marc would take his advances the wrong way. Selfishly, Ty had also tried to convince himself that he himself didn’t need the distraction of an affair at that moment.

All of that was vain, though, as he could practically feel it when Marc sat in the seats and watched his every move during practice. Was he just observing and absorbing a different goaltending style, or was there something personal in that dark, persistent gaze?

Marc got healthy, but by then, the Kryptonite had arrived in the dressing room and SuperTy was mere mortal once again. His own disappointment at the ending of his glorious streak kept him from approaching anyone, let alone the one person he thought could possibly understand him.

March came and went, the playoffs started, the team was on a justly-deserved high. There was no time for anything during the actual playing days, and on the breaks between rounds, Ty shoved hockey out of his mind, as did most of his teammates.

Then in one night, one awful June night, it was all over. They’d come in second. No Cup. No celebrations in front of the rabid fanbase the Penguins enjoyed. He’d gone home that night, knowing that magical season was over, that he’d likely be wearing a different sweater in a month. How could he make his move now? Besides, it wasn’t as if Marc had ever shown the least bit of interest…

 

 

In the wee hours of the morning after, Ty’s phone rang. He hadn’t bothered to go to bed that night; he’d just thrown the TV on and sank into his recliner. When he saw Marc’s name on the Caller ID screen, he almost didn’t answer it in time. Too many questions and speculations were banging around in his head. He pried the phone open just before it could go to voicemail.

“Yeah?”

“Ty?”

His voice sounded way too low-pitched. Probably just needed someone to talk to.

“You OK, kid?”

Ty heard Marc sigh deeply before answering, “No. But…”

“But what?”

“Don’t know how to ask,” he said in his heavier-than-normal accent.

“Any way you want, Marc. You can’t say anything wrong to me.”

“OK.” He seemed to steel himself, as his voice became stronger, more resolute. “Does… does this feeling get… does it go away?”

Ty sighed himself, wishing he were with the young goalie, having this conversation face-to-face. “Yes and no, kid.” He recalled something said in the room, before the media sharks were allowed to feast on their sorrow. “Remember when Sid said that we’d need to hold on to this feeling, this losing feeling?”

“Ty – that’s why I called. I can’t.”

Again Ty wished he could see Marc’s face, could hear more than just words in Marc’s second language. “Listen, I could give you a ton of tired expressions – shit that coaches have been feeding us since we were peewees – but that isn’t going to help you understand.”

“I don’t need to understand. I need it to go away.”

Ty chuckled in spite of himself. If he had the answer to that problem, he wouldn’t need a career in hockey to support himself. “There’s no magic wand. You get past it when you get past it – it’s just a matter of time.” He stopped his own ‘tired expression’ long enough for a fact to dawn on him. “Marc, you’ve been through this before—”

“Losing a Cup?”

“No – just losing.” Ty was reluctant to bring up what must have been, up to now, Marc’s most painful memory, but the silence on the other end of the line made him clarify. “2004? Helsinki?”

“I know what you’re talking about.”

“Sorry to just bring it up like that, but—”

“Goes both ways, Ty. You can’t say anything wrong to me either, _mon ami_.”

Ty sighed in relief. He hadn’t wanted to hurt the kid more, on top of the sting of the night before. “So you know how this feels. What did you do then?”

After a clearly-heard sniffle, Marc launched into his list. “Cried. Threw up. Cried some more. Flew home. Slept. Talked to my dad a bit. Cried some more.” He sniffled again and his voice broke as he added, “Refused to play the puck for two and a half years.”

The line went dead, as if Marc had his hand over the receiver. Ty hoped he hadn’t dropped it, that the kid was still listening. “You really think that your puckhandling—”

The voice that interrupted him was clear, edgy, and angry. “You can ask me that, after two of the biggest games I ever played? Because I played the puck, I lost my country a world championship, now I lose my best friends one too!”

Ty had no words that could give Marc the solace he sought. But something from his list gave Ty an idea. “What did your dad say to you then?”

Marc went silent again, but Ty hoped that he was just simply remembering a nearly three-year-old conversation.

“What dads always say. What you all said to me tonight. Wasn’t my fault. Wouldn’t be there in the first place without me…”

“And you don’t believe that?”

“I didn’t play the puck for years. What does that tell you?”

Now it was Ty’s turn to be silent. Marc needed a lot more from him than he’d gotten from either his father in 2004 or their teammates last night. And this wasn’t going to be accomplished over the phone; this would require a face-to-face.

Then came the most welcome words Ty had heard all night. “Ty… can I… would you mind if I came over?”

And later that night and into the dawn, he’d watched the kid relive that three-year-old litany of therapy. He’d held him as he sobbed, rubbed his back as he got sick, stroked his dark hair as he slept. And all along the way, Ty poured his soul into the words he wanted Marc to hang on to, to finally believe in.

_Not your fault, kid. Your team needs you. All of you, the whole package – goalstopper, playmaker, puckhandler. Without all that, without all those tools, you’ll never get back to the top of that mountain._

It worked. That afternoon, when the cameras caught them again saying goodbye, cleaning out lockers, wrapping up the season – Marc’s smile was back. Maybe not as broad as it had been in the recent past, but that was understandable, given what they’d all been through.

A few weeks later, though, if the cameras had been around, they would have caught a very different Marc-André Fleury.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ty explores the paths that brought he and Marc together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short, sweet interlude before the real action begins. Thanks as always to my beta [](http://eggybread.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://eggybread.livejournal.com/)**eggybread** , and to all who read and enjoy!

Smiling face and laughing eyes were replaced by slack jaws and a stare of disbelief.

“You’re going where?” They were barely whispered, but Ty felt the words as if they had been shouted at him.

“Marc, you always knew this could happen…”

“ _Non._ I always knew you could go. But I had no idea you were talking to… them.”

“It’s just another team. Would it help if I were going to the Devils? Some team you’d have to see – and beat – several times a year?” Ty wasn’t sure his logic was sinking in, as Marc’s face was expressionless. “Detroit’s in the West; we’ll only meet once during the season, maybe twice.”

“During the season.”

Ty caught Marc’s drift. Meeting a team during the regular season didn’t carry the same emotional baggage as meeting them during the post-season. Guys could come into a town and hang with former teammates before a regular season game, or meet up afterward at the hotel for a beer. Ty had actually seen Big Georges beat a guy to a pulp during a game back in Edmonton and then drink with him four hours later.

But the playoffs were a different story. The closest of brothers wouldn’t even acknowledge each other’s presence if their teams faced each other then.

“There’s no guarantees that will ever happen, kid.”

“You don’t think the Wings can repeat?”

“That’s not what I meant…”

“So you don’t think that I can get us there?”

“No!”

“Then why the ‘no guarantees’ shit, Ty?”

In frustration, Ty reached out to cup Marc’s face with both hands. “Do you think I haven’t given this thought?” When merely a blank stare was returned, he continued. “I had no choice.”

“Any other Western team would have been better—“

“I didn’t get any other offers! There, is that what you wanted to hear?” Ty was disgusted at himself for lashing out at Marc, but his emotion ruled his wayward tongue. “Second in the league last year in save percentage doesn’t mean that much, apparently.”

Marc looked stunned but recovered enough to ask, “No other team in the West wanted you?”

“No other TEAM wanted me!” He no longer cared at that point; he went for the jugular. “Including yours.”

Ty didn’t resist as Marc pulled back from him. He watched the kid turn and walk a few steps away, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s not true… Couldn’t be…”

“You calling me a liar now?”

Marc rounded on him with fire in his dark eyes. “Fuck you!”

“Wow. Your English is really coming along.” Again Ty allowed his sarcastic mouth free rein to dig at Marc, to get under the kid’s skin. But what other weapon did he have left? Marc was going to sign a long-term contract extension and Ty was going to sign another year-long apartment lease.

Ty was jealous. He was jealous and hurt and felt unwanted. And the sudden bewildered expression on Marc’s face merely pissed off Ty even more. Why wouldn’t he fight back?

“Say something.”

Marc stared back at Ty for half a beat and then turned away, shoulders slouched.

“Damn it, Marc—“

“What do you want me to say?” he snarled. “Give you more ammunition? Let you hurt me some more?”

Before he knew what he was saying, the poison shot out once again. “Yeah, poor you. Must be tough having to make it on all those millions they’re gonna throw your way.”

He assumed Marc would do something. Like throw a haymaker at his jaw, or lower his head and ram him to the floor, or even growl a stream of Québécois epithets questioning whether or not Ty’s parents had ever been married.

Marc did something, all right.

He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Ty, clasping him so tightly that he almost couldn’t breathe.

“You can’t say anything wrong to me, remember? No matter how hard you try…” were the words Ty felt as much as heard whispered into his ear. “You’re not going to push me away that easily. I’m sorry.”

At the last two words, Ty looked up. “What – you’re sorry?”

“You called me over because you needed someone, and I made it all about me. Enough that you had to tell me that bullshit about no other team wanting you—”

“Hey! I wasn’t lying—”

It was Marc’s turn to cup Ty’s face as he said, “It’s still bullshit, true or not. Some GMs see the trees but not the forest.”

Ty tried to look away, to shy away from the comfort Marc was trying to give him. Despite what Marc thought, he didn’t want to feel better. He wanted to burn in anger and carry that emotion into the upcoming season, showing the rest of the league that they were all wrong about him.

But the long fingers imprisoning his face wouldn’t allow him to do anything except drop his gaze. Marc waited a moment before continuing, “I’m happy for you. Seems silly, huh?”

When Ty finally looked up, he saw nothing but honesty in Marc’s smile-crinkled brown eyes, and his anger fell away. But he couldn’t resist one last playful jab. “Happy that your competition is leaving?”

Marc’s eyes widened for a brief moment until he saw Ty’s grin. “Happy that you’ll be someone else’s competition. Someone you can actually beat.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ty explores the paths that brought he and Marc together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must admit, I am still a novice at writing explicit pr0n. It has taken many months of trying (and lots of encouragement from ma copine et beta extraordinaire [](http://eggybread.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://eggybread.livejournal.com/)**eggybread** ) to get to where I can rate a fic ‘R’. Hope everyone is patient with my effort. :)

Ty had a date circled on his calendar ever since he put the damn thing up on his bedroom wall, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with Veterans’ Day.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008.

And the funny thing is that he didn’t even know why. Sure, he wanted to catch up with old friends – some of the best friends he’d made in his career, in fact – but he didn’t have other reunion dates circled. October 5 and November 17 were just days on the calendar, even though two of his other former teams would be visiting the Joe then.

Ty told himself that those teams were too far back in his past. That the connection between he and they was simply not as strong.

Ty lied to himself.

And as the day neared and the local hype grew, it became clearer just why he was lying. It seemed to him that the promos of the rematch began to run on every channel, and each time he’d catch one, there was a puck sliding past Marc, shot by one of his celebrating new teammates. All the emotion of those days came trickling back, culminating in a night of dreams featuring lost smiles and tear-filled brown eyes.

But that emotion was nothing compared to the jolt Ty received in the wee hours of Sunday morning, when he opened his front door to that familiar grin, back in full force.

“Surprised?” Marc had asked him, once he’d recovered enough to invite him in.

He tried to stall, to cough, to grin sheepishly, but knew that Marc would see through all that. Honesty just seemed to be the best choice.

“Of course I’m surprised,” he replied as he took Marc’s overcoat and hung it next to the door. “Didn’t know you’d be in town quite so early.” The words sounded stilted in his ears, as if he were trying to keep Marc at arm’s length. And that was the last thing he wanted to do.

“So, Ty, where can a guy get a good breakfast here? The food on the plane was awful.”

_Food. Airline food. Breakfast. Yeah, we should eat something, keep up our strength…_

“Ty…?”

_He’s here. He’s really here, in my living room, standing here as if he lived here. We’re both here, together. Together._

“Ty!”

Marc’s raised voice brought Ty out of his reverie. “Sorry. It’s just… just good to see you. Guess I didn’t expect you… The guys… they didn’t come with you? I mean, you didn’t come with them – you came alone? ‘Cause you said that the food was bad, and it’s never bad on team flights…”

“You’re rambling.”

_I know._

The rambling was replaced with silence, as the words simply wouldn’t come. _Stay with me. Don’t leave me. Sorry I left you. I miss you._ He wanted to blurt them all out at once.

“Ty – you all right? You want to get some breakfast?”

“I’m not letting you back outside.”

And then no more words were necessary, as Ty bridged the distance between himself and Marc, pulling him closer, wrapping hungry arms around the still slightly chilled younger man. Before he could think straight, he felt Marc’s long fingers grasp the back of his head, gently pulling it back, cradling it as he lowered his lips to meet Ty’s.

_Oh god oh god oh dear god what am I doing_

But he found himself responding to the pounding of his pulse, the insistence of Marc’s kiss, the tightening in his shorts. There was no turning back, no second-guessing. Whether this was good for the team (whichever team!) or bad for either man’s concentration – it just didn’t matter. All that mattered to Ty was that Marc keep doing what he was doing.

Ty knocked off the hat Marc was still wearing, was always wearing. Seemed a shame to cover up that lovely hair, he thought as he threaded his fingers into its depths. Not like Marc could return that particular favor…

Their mouths parted and Marc’s lips found Ty’s stubbled cheek, his jawbone, up to his earlobe before Ty lost the will to think. He felt cool air swirl across his chest and glanced down to find his t-shirt had crawled up to his underarms, Marc’s eager hands exploring and tantalizing, drawing mindless groans from Ty.

_This can’t be right. Feels too good to be right. We’re betraying… someone. New teammates, new employers, former and current._

But all the waiting, the denial of what Ty had been feeling almost since Day One of camp in ‘07, the knowledge that if it had been wrong back then, it would have been even more of a betrayal – all of it crested within Ty like a tsunami.

This was right. Right in a way that perhaps it wouldn’t have been before. And as he pulled Marc’s lips back to his own, pulled the younger man closer and felt the swelling desire arise between them, he knew that they had been through enough waiting.

Up the stairs they went, leaving pieces of clothing like a trail of bread crumbs in their wake. _Will I need to find my way back…?_ Ty’s hand found Marc’s, though – the hand that could find Marc in a blackout. He tugged Marc forward, through the bedroom door, over to the low, stark bed, still rumpled from Ty’s aborted night.

“Were you ready for me?” Marc asked.

“Ready?”

“No one else here.” Marc’s eyes were full of wonder, as if he imagined Ty to have a much fuller love life.

Ty dropped Marc’s hand and cupped his cheek instead, trembling a bit as Marc leaned his head into the touch. “There’s no one else I want here.”

Marc misinterpreted his shiver. He gathered Ty closer, leaned in and whispered, “Bed would be warmer…”

Very little convincing would have been necessary to nudge Ty in that direction. A glance at Marc’s face was all it took. But a question bubbled into his mind, one that once realized, required it to be asked. “Did you come all the way for this?”

“For this?” Marc pointed at the bed. _“Non._ For this?” He grinned and tugged gently at Ty’s proud manhood. _“Non._ And not even for this.” He pulled Ty into a demanding embrace and plumbed Ty’s mouth with his darting tongue. Ty felt Marc’s fingers travel down, down his back and sides, down to clutch at his ass and pull their hips closer, hardness meeting hardness.

“Not for this, Ty…” he murmured against Ty’s lips. “I came for you.”

Ty’s gut flipped, almost as if he’d been instantly transported onto a fighter jet. He wanted to jump around like an idiot, hoot his joy at the top of his lungs, dance a jig. But instead, he wrapped one arm protectively around the back of Marc’s head and one leg around both of Marc’s before dropping them both to the Asian-style low mattress behind them.

“Are you trying to beat your competition a couple days early?” asked Marc, a wicked glint in his eye.

“You aren’t my competition now. And beating you is the last thing on my mind.” Ty looked down at Marc, drank in the body he’d seen so often last year, familiar as his own. But something had changed… His fingers danced across Marc’s biceps, his shoulders, traveled down to his pecs. “Worked out a bit over the summer?” he asked, leaning down to brush the top of Marc’s shoulder with his lips.

“It helped… easier to deal with…” Marc stumbled with the words, or the emotion, or possibly the feel of Ty’s mouth on his hardened nipple. “You were right… that night… Fuck, Ty, don’t stop…”

It was Ty’s turn to smile as the passion within Marc bubbled to the surface. More than just the obvious signs – an erection is rather unmistakable – but the catch in the younger man’s breath, drops of sweat beading on his skin, his soft, sing-song moan as Ty’s hands roamed lower and lower. They all set off a spark within Ty, one that matched Marc’s fiery gaze.

“How… how do you want this?” whispered Ty, wishing he didn’t have to spoil the moment with the mundane.

The younger man grinned in response before unexpectedly taking a firm hold and twisting, flipping their positions. Once on top, Marc slid down Ty’s body, wasting no time before encasing Ty’s shaft with his eager mouth.

Backflips, Ty thought incoherently. His body jolted with the energy to run sprints, skate suicides, turn backflips. But he remained on his back, fingers clutching the sheets in an attempt to keep control.

Onward Marc went, taking him all the way in, shattering Ty’s resolve, sending him into the stratosphere. As he approached the spark-filled summit, he felt pressure at his opening as Marc’s long fingers slid in, stretching and twisting and making way. Before he knew it, Marc was above him, dark eyes glowing with desire, hips nudging, coaxing. There was pain and pressure and it filled Ty, drawing out his climax until he wondered if breath would ever return. Marc had made Ty his own, a fact made more apparent by the teeth sunk firmly in Ty’s shoulder, the mark of the Flower.

And when any other sane man would be easing back from the precipice, Ty felt himself climbing higher, risking it all to match his partner’s passion. He heard a voice in his ear, urging him on in smooth and liquid French, and oh, that voice could rip right through him as it called him farther, lifted him higher, until at last it broke under the strain. He heard his name called out, over and over, as Marc’s final thrusts rammed home.

Later, when Ty lay flat on his back watching the sun peek through the blinds, Marc’s voice still echoing in his ears, he wondered why. Not just why they’d waited, but why they’d stopped waiting. All the rationalization of the rightness of their actions nudged at him. He felt buried in a sea of thoughts and musings, barely noticing Marc’s head rising up from the pillow beside him until he spoke.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

What could he say? _We shouldn’t have done it… Shoulda just let it alone… Why now…? Why not then…?_ Marc wouldn’t understand it and he’d think Ty regretted what they’d done. But before he could respond, Marc leaned in close and captured his lips.

Ty tried to talk through the kiss. “Why’d you—?” But Marc’s mouth laid smooth pressure and the words came out disjointed. “Should… can’t forget… don’t regret…”

“What you did for love?” Marc sang, grossly out-of-tune.

Ty grinned in spite of himself, all questions about right and wrong vanished under the gleaming smile of his partner. Marc had it right.

He really had done it all, every path he’d followed and each step he hadn’t taken, everything for the past year, all for love. “You nailed it, my Flower.”

Marc’s voice sizzled in Ty’s ear. “Not all I nailed…”

If Ty had needed any encouragement to spend the next few hours re-discovering the joy they’d just shared, Marc had surely given it to him. He grinned widely. “You know, turnabout is fair play.”

Marc lifted himself up on one elbow to stare back at Ty. “Another one of those American phrases that doesn’t make any sense to me. What does turning around in a circle have to do with playing fair?”

“Turn over and I’ll show you…”

 

 

Hours later, after he had shown him and they lay spent in the afterglow, Ty noticed the room had rather swiftly darkened. As magical as the day had been, it was fast coming to a close, and Ty really didn’t know what to think. Was it better to just close the book here, leaving a tidy ending? Or could he fit their few stolen moments into his already-too-full life?

He felt Marc roll over in bed next to him, felt Marc’s hand searching for something as he slept. But when their two hands met, Marc’s grabbed and held on fast to Ty’s, as if he wanted to keep him close.

Ty pulled their clasped hands out from beneath the covers, reaching with his other hand toward his bedside lamp. He wanted to see how their fingers fit perfectly together, how surprisingly soft Marc’s palms were. And all the while, through all Ty’s manipulation, Marc’s fingers still quested for his own.

Even in sleep, he wasn’t letting go.

So rather than losing himself in logical thought, he lost himself in pondering the man lying next to him, the one who’d stolen his heart. He watched him breathe. Watched him fall deeper into sleep. Watched him begin to dream and smile, and realized that he still hadn’t slackened his firm grasp on Ty’s hand.

How could he even consider turning his back on what they’d found?

He switched off the light, allowed his eyes to accustom to the darkness, snuggled closer to Marc. There was no need to make the decision right this second, anyway. He sighed in resignation and the sound roused his partner. Marc’s round liquid brown eyes reflected the available light as he looked first at Ty’s face, then at their still-clasped hands.

“ _Désolé, mon âme._ Were you trying to go?”

_He doesn’t realize what he’s asking. Honestly, though, is it just that simple? Getting out of bed, getting out of his life, leaving him behind – I don’t want to do any of them._

Ty smiled and kissed the hand he held, watched as Marc’s smile mirrored the moonlight, sparkled like the stars.

“I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
